Читать книгу Mine - S.A Partridge - Страница 14

Recital. Recital. Recital. I’m so nervous.

Lucinda is being nice to me. Almost. I know as soon as this is over she’s going to go back to hating my guts. I don’t care. For now she’s civil, and I can breathe, and this is not going to end up being one huge disaster. Oh, I know Galactus is still out there, his mouth gaping wide, ready to suck me up with the rest of the planet. But he has to wait.

Backstage, the other Music nerds with their perfect hair and expensive designer dresses don’t give me a second look. So everything’s normal on that front. I’m wearing the plainest, yuckiest dress I could find and my gladiator sandals. My hair is tied up in the same high ponytail I always wear. The other girls look so perfect they could belong to any of the most illustrious symphony orchestras; I look like I should be busking in a train station. But somewhere cool, like Prague.

Sebastian walks past like I’m not even here, like he’s done all week. I bend down and pretend to fiddle with a strap on my shoe. I’m nervous as hell already – I can’t afford to be all bleak about him too. I’m surrounded by the sound of instruments being tuned. Clarinet. Oboe. Violin.

I nervously take out my flute and give it a tentative blow. It sounds okay. I know I should really tune my instrument properly so it doesn’t sound too sharp, but it’s impossible to do it here, where I’m circled by enemies and my head hurts from the effort of not freaking out. I need to get out of here. I grab my case and rush outside. The air smells like the sea – my favourite smell. This is a good omen. I take a deep breath and look around for somewhere quiet to practise.

People are starting to come up the path. They’re not supposed to see me. I slip into the shadows and decide to try the back of the building, but I interrupt a couple making out against the wall. “Whoops, my bad,” I say, backing away quickly.

The couple spring apart. The girl glares at me and I realise it’s Julia freaking Montgomery. The guy also stares. Or I think he does. I can’t really make out his face underneath his red hoodie.

I disappear quickly, only to be grabbed roughly by the wrist by my Music teacher, Mr Emersen. “Backstage, now. You’re up first,” he says, exasperated.

“Already? I thought Sebastian and Leo were doing their Mozart piece first?”

“I changed the programme. If you had been backstage like you were supposed to be, you would have known that. Move it, young lady.”

My nervousness swirls around my stomach and my vision swims.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m following Lucinda and her perfect, complicated braid into a circular room with about forty chairs arranged in rows in front of us. Vomit rises in my throat, but I manage a bow and a nod to the audience. I clumsily arrange my sheet music on the stand. Why does paper sound so loud all of a sudden?

Mr Emersen emerges in a blue blazer with ridiculous shoulder pads and addresses the crowd: “Ladies and gentleman, it is such an honour to have you all with us tonight for the second of this year’s Music School recitals. We are so blessed to have such gifted faculty members with years of concert experience under their belts, willing to bestow their wisdom on our students. I’d like to introduce you now to the first of our duos for the evening: Lucinda Pretorius, Mr Brocker’s star pianist, and Kayla Murphy, our youngest flautist.”

The audience applauds and I step forward awkwardly and lift the flute to my lips, waiting for Lucinda to begin. I hope nobody can see that my hands are shaking. I don’t look at the crowd but at my notes. I would die if I had to look up – I can just imagine Lorenda’s nervous, expectant face waiting for me to screw up. Jerome would just be bored. If he even bothered to come to these things. Neither of them are here tonight, but only because I’ve successfully managed to hide it from them for weeks.

Lucinda’s fingers hit the keys and I take a deep breath. As my lips touch the plate, I look up and notice the couple from outside. The guy is staring at me like he’s just seen a ghost.

Did I see something I wasn’t supposed to just now?

I begin my piece, concentrating on the notes, even though my eyes flit up every few seconds to see if he’s still staring at me. He hasn’t looked away once. The part of my brain that’s still able to think has decided he’s really cute, in a rough-around-the-edges sort of way.

I can’t seem to look away. It’s as if our eyes keep finding their way back to each other. I can feel a smile tugging at my lips. He smiles too, then tries to hide it with his hand.